


Running Water

by CedarTheBarefoot



Series: Up On the Homestead [10]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bathtub Sex, Hand Jobs, Historical References, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25866730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CedarTheBarefoot/pseuds/CedarTheBarefoot
Summary: Indoor plumbing has the potential to be an inconvenient mess. But, it’ll make life a little easier...and there just so happens to be a fancy new copper tub involved.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: Up On the Homestead [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1260731
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	Running Water

**Author's Note:**

> In the first draft of this installment, I had FAR too much logistical jargon of historical indoor plumbing, and how it worked. So, I trimmed it down to make it palatable.
> 
> Hope you’re all doing well, my lovelies! Stay safe!

Arthur was sitting in the barn, repairing one of his training bridles, when John came in.

The big man looked up as his lover strode past with purpose. He was carrying their rifles. “Saddle up, Morgan, we’re going huntin’.” 

Arthur obliged with no argument, sensing the anxiety in him. He put down his work and got to his feet as John called his favoured mount, Sooty, from the field with three short whistles. Arthur called in Salamander, and prepared to ride. 

Once the horses were saddled, the two men led them from the barn. Arthur heaved the door closed behind them so as not to encourage the remaining horses to wander anywhere outside of the barn or field. 

He spared a glance at the house before mounting up. The front door was propped wide open, and there were several voices and the sound of sawing coming from inside. 

The source of John’s anxiety. 

The two men were experiencing company in the form of Michael, who was Graham Collings’ youngest son, the boy’s lover Cole, and the Tyler triplets.

Now...Arthur had been skeptical for some time about the supposed “ingenuity” of indoor plumbing. In his previous experiences, the mechanics of the idea had not quite eliminated the possibility of flooding as well as intolerable odors. For instance, he remembered this one so-called fancy-to-do hotel many years ago in...well, Arthur couldn’t remember where it was. 

He did remember that they’d pilfered over a thousand dollars from unsuspecting guests who obviously could afford the loss. He also remembered the stench. 

John remembered it as well. 

The two men were therefore reasonably against exposing their safe haven, their home, to such a thing.

And…well, the Collings were very persuasive. 

Graham had been pushing them towards it for years now. Always made it a point to demonstrate the convenience of running water inside the house whenever they visited. Stubborn old coot. 

Housing young Michael and Cole the past winter might have been the nail in the proverbial coffin. 

Cole would at least do his hearty best not to complain within earshot of Arthur or John about trudging to the outhouse in the middle of snowfall or emptying pots. However, Michael was just like his mother. Quiet and observant until he had something to say. He’d thrown open the door, letting in a gust of wind, stomping off his boots before entering, teeth chattering as he expressed his frustrations.

“You’re going to have an indoor water closet before this time next year if I have to build the damn thing myself!” Had been the vague threat.

John, who had just been coming up from the root cellar in that moment with some dried squash, had pulled a face, “Will we have the absolute pleasure of putting you up next winter then?” 

They’d laughed about it then. But when summer came, John had been realized the boy’s statement had been true the way Michael and his friends had come trudging up the mountain to start the work with two carts worth of building material. 

He seldom visited without Cole, that was a given. However, Michael had also brought the Tyler triplets, whose names were Lucy, Chester and Ed. Earl Tyler and his family were “plumbing engineers,” and were responsible for bringing the construction and maintenance of running water in Whisper Ridge and the surrounding area. 

John had attempted to protest. Not only against the project, but the idea of having his home invaded by all of these twenty-somethings who were bound to eat him out of house and home while they stayed. 

Despite this, Michael had taken the Tylers on a look around the place, with Cole trailing along, casting apologetic looks at the two older men. The entire time, the triplets were taking measurements, drawing up some plans and ideas on brown paper. Crossing a few out. Arguing quietly about what would or wouldn’t work. It was an involved process. 

Which, Arthur supposed, was a good thing. 

Routing where the water would come from. Making sure when it left, that it would be far off from the house and any source of drinking water. Reducing risks of any possibility of leaks to the root cellar. Hell, even air pressure and numbers were involved, which Arthur hadn’t known.

The final plan was pitched. It included the construction of a private closet, and running water to the kitchen bench and a second hand enameled cast iron sink. If a copper bath were ordered now, they could even get running water and a drain pipe from the room in the back. 

If the Tylers had noticed that the handmade wooden tub in the back, which was essentially a trough, was big enough for two big men, they made no mention of it.

Instead, they took turns explaining what they could do, why it was safe to do it a certain way, and the simple benefits of it. Unlike Michael, they were not forceful over the issue. They simply presented what they could do for the two older men. 

Arthur, who had been standing with his arms crossed, listening intently, pursed his lips. Not having to haul water from the well to the house was a pretty idea. No longer carrying the dirty water from the dry sink and bath outside sounded attractive. He also didn’t mind the prospects of an indoor wash closet now that the mechanics were presented to him. The big man had scratched idly at the scar on his chin and looked over at John.

The man in question had heaved a sigh and reached up to rub at his face. “How long is this gonna take?” 

Chester had shrugged, “That depends.”

“A few weeks,” Ed had answered confidently.

“With good weather,” Lucy added. 

At least it was warm and they’d all had the courtesy to bring tents to pitch. The work started that very same day. Aside from selecting a shiny copper tub from their catalogue (which Lucy had subtly hinted was big enough for their purposes), John and Arthur for the most part were able to go about their business, training and taking care of the horses, tending the garden, making a trip or two into town, enjoying the privacy of their bed at night while the young folk slept outside in their tents. 

Occasionally, Arthur would join in on some of the work, learning about the system and how it worked as well. John distracted himself with the usual chores. It was easy enough to ignore them all digging a trench as it moved further from the house. 

It was the part where giant holes were being cut into the wall and floors that John’s stress had peaked and he had to have a change of scenery. Of course the triplets had informed the two aging outlaws what they’d be doing that day over breakfast. However, it was one thing to talk about it, and another thing to see it happen

“You okay, darlin’?” Arthur asked after perhaps ten minutes of silent riding up into the woods, following one of the well-traveled game trails.

John heaved a sigh, “Yeah...I dunno...” he trailed off. 

Arthur drew Salamander up to keep pace beside Sooty, “They mean well.”

His lover nodded, reaching up to pull off his hat and run his fingers through his hair, “I know. And I know it’ll make things easier. I don’t...just seein’ them tearing a hole in the wall...pullin’ up the floorboards…”

Arthur smiled gently, “I remember spending all day nailing down them boards. Jammed my thumb.”

Despite himself, John snorted, “More than once if I recall. Had you cussin’ up a mighty storm.” 

“Yeah. I remember.”

“And I...I...well, I have my misgivings about getting rid of the tub. Our tub.” John ducked his head, looking down at his hat in his lap.

“Ohh, darlin’,” Arthur murmured, knowing it took something for John to admit that. He reached out to brush his knuckles over his lover’s sleeve.

John heaved another sigh and put his hat back onto his head. “It’s not that I’m against the ‘ingenuity of indoor plumbing,’” he said, doing a rather decent impression of Graham’s northern Yorkshire accent. Arthur smiled at that and patiently let him continue, “It’s just...we built that house, and everything in it...and when we finished that tub, fixed all the leaks...” He made a disgusted sound and wiped at his damp eyes, “Listen t’me. Sentimental fool.” 

It was quiet for a moment as Arthur tried to blink away the sudden moisture in his own eyes. He took a heavy breath and said, “We’ve had a looot of sex in that tub.”

John barked out a laugh. 

Pursung his lips, Arthur pulled Salamander to a gentle stop. John did the same with Sooty, looking questioningly at his lover. 

“Why don’t we take our tub up to the cabin? We could build some cover for it, looking out over the lake. Fill it with hot water and watch the mist roll in on a chilly morning up there?” 

John smiled softly, “That sounds real nice.” 

They looked at one another lovingly for a moment, eyes watery before Arthur’s soft smile turned into a smirk, “In the meantime...we’ll just have to christen that fancy new copper tub.”

John cocked a coy eyebrow, “And how will we be doing that?”

“Easy,” Arthur chuckled, “Fill it up, and ride me until we’re both seein’ stars.”

“And what if I want _you_ to ride _me_ in the christening of that fancy new copper tub?”

“Hmm. How about whoever bags a deer? Loser rides.”

“You’re on,” John grinned, nudging Sooty into a loping trot ahead of Arthur and Salamander.

————

Wet, tangled locks of dark hair swung slowly back and forth against John’s shoulders. He swallowed hard, gasping when a particularly hard thrust pressed up unforgivingly against his sweet spot. 

Needless to say, Arthur had been the one to bag a buck. 

John moaned. While he had a long-lasting sense of competetiveness with Arthur, in this instance, he wasn’t sore about losing. 

There was an answering huff of air and a low, gravelly groan, warming his lips. John felt the hot caress of Arthur’s breath slip down to the hollow of his throat, shing with sweat from the exertion amd steam. Felt the scrape of stubble as kisses trailed down his neck. 

John sighed, tilting his head as teeth and tongue found his nape. He clenched his fingers against the smooth, curled rim of the copper bathtub as his lover tightened his pumping grip around his cock. Behind him, he felt Arthur’s knees rise as he planted his feet in the warm water. Their splashing grew in rhythm and strength. 

Filling the tub had been as simple as turning a spigot. They’d only had to boil two pots of water on the stove in addition to chase away the chill. 

Sucking in short breaths, John’s mouth dropped open, his body growing taut as his back arched. He bounced mercilessly up and down on the length of Arthur’s cock, rocking his hips into his fist, riding that familiar sensation. Chasing what was so very close. A long cry let loose from deep within his belly, stuttering at its peak. 

Arthur clenched his jaw, feeling thin ropes of spend seeping over his fingers. Closing his eyes, he focused on the nearly painful throbbing tightness of John’s passage. The pleasure he’d wrung from him had him loosening and clenching in waves. It was almost enough. He just needed a little more. 

“Don’t stop,” Arthur grunted, “Oh, please,” and pressed at the small of John’s back. Pulling him in. Grinding their hips together. John grunted, an arm coming around the big man’s neck. Desperately trying to continue as every over-sensitive nerve inside him begged for him to succumb to the bliss of recovery. 

Instead, he kept on riding him. Rocking with the push and pull of his lover’s hands. Feeling blind with every thrust, breathless and fragile. His fingers, wet with bathwater, found purchase and clenched in the damp blond hair. 

“Ohh, fuck,” Arthur growled between his teeth, pressing his face against John’s throat. And then he was finally coming off with a long, gravelly moan, hips stuttering through his release.

The water slowly settled as the two men seemed to melt against one another. John laid bonelessly on top of Arthur who fought to keep his tight hold around the narrow waist. 

It was some time later when they came back to themselves. Arthur caressed the quivering muscles in John’s back, kissing him behind the ear, “You awake, Darlin’?”

“Yeah,” came the soft, satisfied reply.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, nuzzling his nose against his long, damp hair. 

“Mhmm.”

“Good. ‘Cause you came first,” 

John huffed out a sigh at his second loss, and his muffled voice came, “ _Fine_. You get to do the dishes.” 

———-

Arthur picked up the sudsy bowl he’d just scrubbed and held it beneath the spigot. The water that flowed into the new-to-them enamel sink was chilly and clear. He handed the dish to John, who took it and dried it off with a rag before replacing it on the shelf below the bench. 

It wasn’t that either man particularly enjoyed or hated doing dishes. It just so happened that there was a residual giddiness at their home now having running water. 

After handing off the last dish to be dried, Arthur turned off the waterflow and watched as it slowed to a stop. A final thin, smooth drop fell into the sink and then...nothing. A corner of his mouth turned up in a smile and he looked at his lover. 

“Next thing you know, we’ll have electric lamps,” John scoffed, throwing the rag he’d been using to dry dishes over his shoulder and crossing his arms.

Arthur took in John’s naked form as it was leaned against the kitchen bench. His eyes trailed down the lean yet strong arms and chest, sinful waist, and settled where his flesh dipped as the bench pressed against his pert arse. 

He reflected on the long weeks of summer spent sharing their space. And he thought about John’s adoration and sense of protection he’d felt for the things they’d built together. Damn, he loved him.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” John asked, even though he knew perfectly well what his lover was looking at. He was taking in similar sights himself. The dark golden hair trailing down a powerful chest. Down to a thin trail. Down to a full thatch and a-

“M’tryin’ to think of some sort of illicit bet involving electric lamps.”

John cocked an amused eyebrow, “Arthur Morgan, are you becoming a gambler?”

The big man crowded his lover against the bench, pressing their groins gently together. Teasing. He watched how John bit his lip, and blinked languidly at him. “I win even when I lose,” Arthur murmured.

John uncrossed his arms, and his hands stroked down his lover’s bare flanks. One finger slid suggestively down the crease of Arthur’s unclothed arse as the others clasped a solid cheek. “Is it possible to christen a sink?” He murmured against his lover’s mouth.

Arthur’s tongue flicked out against John’s lower lip, “Could be. Maybe if you bend me over it.” 

“Let’s find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and/or kudos! Lovely to hear from you!


End file.
